Returning home to Molly
by hellokhaleesi
Summary: Sherlock has returned, but if there's any feat greater than faking your own death, it's coming back. With John's help, Sherlock must confess his return to one last person; Molly Hooper. Slightly Mollock, rated T for language.


_**AN: I apologise in advance; I've never written from Sherlock's point of view, and it's turning out to be much harder than I thought, so I am sorry if this reflects in my writing. I just wanted to write this scene between Sherlock and Molly, I love them, they're adorable.**_

The smell of disinfectant and chemicals and Bunsen burners flickering away filled Sherlock's nose and he was filled with an uncharacteristic sense of nostalgia. There was the same, standard, white walls and metal doors and porthole windows and it was all very clinical. It made him feel at home.

"You have to tell her at some point." John snapped, bringing him back to reality.

Ever since his return, John had been biting at his ankles to break the news to others. Sherlock suspected he wanted him out of the house, but John knew right from wrong and stuck with it. So Sherlock had been dragged back to the work place of Molly Hooper.

"I could easily get away with delaying this moment for another few weeks, Watson." Sherlock fumed. "She's still mourning, contrary to popular belief, I don't actually enjoy seeing people suffer. Dropping this on her now would probably install some kind of breakdown in her."

"Not if you want to continue doing what you do in London." he retorted. "And don't try and make out you're doing this for her sake, Sherlock."

Sherlock gritted his jaw; John was right. Molly was highly talented at what she did, she was indispensable for his work, as was her lab. But he felt a stab of emotion – sadness, insult, let down, he wasn't sure what, he'd long since given up differentiating – in the idea that John truly believed his stalling was a selfish act. He ignored it. Sherlock didn't believe that John would ever intentionally hurt him.

The fact was that Sherlock was quite scared at facing Molly, out of shame. She'd offered her held with genuine good intentions, not with her own agenda, only as a friend. John had been quick to point out all of the times she could have rightfully walked away from him, and there was an extensive list. The fact she hadn't spoke highly of her character; loyalty and trustworthiness were traits Sherlock admired. Molly possessed bounds of both.

"Oh, for the love of God." John kicked open the door to the lab with surprising strength, before pushing Sherlock through it. There was an extended moment of silence while he tried desperately to think of an appropriate way to break his continued existence to Molly while looking at John in disbelief. This moment was, however, interrupted by the sensation of something breakable colliding with his head at high speed.

"You utter bastard!" Molly's recognisable nervous voice had been replaced with a screech. Bringing his hand up to his head, Sherlock realised she had thrown a test tube of him, filled with something mildly acidic, judging from the way his scalp was tingling.

"You just threw a test tube at me." he said plainly, at a loss for other words.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Should I have throw it off the _roof_ instead?" she yelled sarcastically. The question didn't even make sense, but Sherlock forgave her since the rush of testosterone and adrenaline in her body was probably causing lack of clarity.

"You let me think you were dead for weeks, Sherlock!" she raged. She turned on John. "How long have you known?"

"About three weeks." he said awkwardly.

"You threw yourself off that roof two months ago, what the hell was keeping you?" she snapped incredulously.

"I thought you might be over it by now."

She looked enraged. She grabbed the nearest glass object – a measuring cylinder, blissfully empty – and threw it at his head. She ducked, and it shattered into pieces on the wall next to John.

"Over it?" she screamed. "I don't think you quite understand how much you mean to me, Sherlock. I looked up to you, I tried so hard to live up to your stupid bloody standards but you never even looked twice at me. You were my idol and you left me here for weeks to think you were dead and now you think _I'll just be over_ _it_?" She punctuated the last five words by throwing various bits of lab equipment at him; test tube holders, Petri dishes, tweezers and what he suspected was a scalpel, judging from the slightly guilty look on her face after she threw it.

Sherlock dodged each of her assaults, but was left speechless. He had suspected in the past that Molly felt a certain affection towards him, mostly because of the way John would look at him with disdain whenever he dismissed her. He ignored all matters of the heart, preferring to trust the logical side of his life. Hard fact took precedence over fancy and emotion any day. However, he had not realised quite how Molly viewed him in such glowing terms.

"Molly, I realise I may have caused you some distress and I apologise sincerely for that. It was never my intention to damage your feelings." he said honestly. He glanced back at John, who was shaking his head in dismay.

His phone vibrated. He discreetly checked the message he had just received.

**John Watson**

IT'S 'HURT YOUR FEELINGS'

YOU DON'T DAMAGE FEELINGS

SHERLOCK

Sherlock cursed himself. Molly was one of those slightly sociable types who would pick up on such pointless trivia.

"Yeah, you might have caused some distress." she snapped.

"It was not my intention."

"You faked your very public suicide for what... attention? Were you bored again?" She looked more disappointed in him than angry now. This caused the muscles in his abdomen to spasm uncomfortably, regardless of how irrational it was. Molly was, more so than any human being he had ever met, innocent. She wasn't guilty in the eyes of the law, or the eyes of anyone or anything. She was for all intents and purposes, in possession of an arguably flawless personality.

"For very long, very complicated reasons. Again, I did not mean to _hurt_ your feelings." He glanced back at John, who only rolled his eyes at him.

"Will you ever do that again?" she asked meekly.

"I see no reason." he answered curiously.

"Um, okay." she nodded. "Can you close your eyes please?"

"What?" he snorted.

"Please?"

He obliged slightly cautiously, fully aware he was not likely able to dodge a scalpel if he couldn't see. He stayed there for a moment, slightly nervous, bracing himself for impact with any manner of objects currently laying on her work space.

He felt an odd weight against his chest. Then he felt what seemed suspiciously like two arms around his waist. He realised Molly was hugging him.

Panicked, he looked at John in desperation. John groaned quietly, motioning for him to put his arms around her.

Sherlock extracted his arms from her hold, and placed them awkwardly around her shoulders. She was significantly smaller than him, her head easily resting on his chest. She flinched slightly at the weight of his arms, but quickly settled back into his chest.

"Please," she muttered into his chest, her voice muffled by the sound of her trying to hold back tears. "never do that to me again."

"Do what?" he asked, confused. She was, after all, the one that just threw half a lab at him.

"Leave me."


End file.
